Lucky
by Ammanalien
Summary: A shameless McKay whumpfic. Sorry, Rodney... COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

oOo

He never thinks of himself as a lucky man. He likes to complain about most things, and that includes his lot in life, generally. Not that he's a moaner, as such... he simply aspires above and beyond what is here and now.. wants that little extra.. enjoys and values perfection.

Anyway, he's a scientist... when you're striving for excellence, luck doesn't come into it. He steps on the cracks, happily walks under ladders and was once proud owner of apartment thirteen.

But, he surmises, they'll be lucky today if they escape this planet unscathed.

And isn't it just like Sheppard to be peppering the walls with bullets? There is no one following them now, no one threatening them; in McKay's opinion, he just likes the noise.

McKay feels Ronon behind him and then recieves a push that means, _get a move on, McKay, _because, yes, the scientist is dragging his feet.. a little.

Bullets are ricocheting from the shiny walls and he thinks, _steady on, colonel!_ That man has the luck of the Irish, but stray bullets can ping around and find targets just as easily as ones that are aimed. Ronon passes him as a blur of tan leather, and, irritated, he has to stoop to retrieve his pack, as it's been knocked from his shoulder when the big man sped by him. There's no time to get it on his back, so he simply grasps it to himself, and then is up and running with his team.

There isn't far to go and he's glad he's not navigating; all these hallways look the same, so he scampers on, following the others.

Then, from a dark opening that the others passed just moments before, someone appears.

It's like a movie; you know, the cheesy eleventh hour scene you've been expecting all along. Only he isn't expecting this. The man is still, and his weapon is raised - it's a crumby-looking, pistol type thing. He doesn't know why, but Rodney is sure that there's no time to drop the pack, reach for his handgun and fire it. So he doesn't even try... _isn't that strange?_ he thinks. He doesn't try to save himself, he doesn't try to run... he's frozen. Of all things, it is images of the infirmary that flash before him now; bedpans, IV lines, ice chips, Carson in charge of him like he was a child. All this to look forward to...

Except, of course, he just might...

_die_.

_Crap_... This man has him sighted, square in the chest, Sheppard and the others are ahead of him, already to the outer door, and they are seconds away from the jumper parked outside. He sees them from the corner of his eye, as if they move in slow motion; John and Ronon, like Butch and Sundance, about to spring up and leap around the corner. Maybe he could shout, but he's scared that something might provoke that grubby finger to pull the trigger... the trigger that's going to send a bullet or blast straight into his chest.

_Into his chest..._

Oh, God, he's a dead man.

He's not sure what comes first, the sound of the weapon firing, the impact, or the shouts from the doorway. He thinks it is the former, and, flinching only slightly, he feels a calmness descend as a mist, so that when the impact comes it is dulled somewhat by the haze that surrounds him.

He is not knocked backwards as he has imagined, instead, a vibration rolls through him right to the soles of his feet, and he staggers like a drunk. He looks down and sees he is still clutching his pack in front of him in his shaking hands. Smoke is curling from a ragged hole in its front, and now suddenly he laughs, because it's ridiculous, but Lady Luck has smiled on him and this pack has saved his life.

His eyes connect with his team at the doorway and he giggles even as Ronon, kneeling, capably drops the man with the crumby little shooter, with two economical blasts of his alien weapon.

"It's okay.." he says, a little breathlessly, seeing as how he's still recovering from the shock of near-death.

Then there is a loud crash, the pack slides from numbing fingers and he's left looking intently at his knees. When, exactly, had he decided to sit down?

He's wet and he thinks maybe his water bottle has burst. His right hand dabs and wipes ineffectually at his damp shirt. He has a sense that the others are moving from the doorway and are surrounding him.

"Is 'at... _blood_?", he asks, puzzled, as the hand he now holds in front of his face blurs and turns his whole vision to red.

"Oh... "

His concern grows, because, as he gazes up at his team, no one is smiling and congratulating him on his near-miss. Instead they have faces of stone and Teyla has a hand over her mouth like she's said something she shouldn't have; Sheppard rubs at his head as if it pains him.

The man who is always right, who is the brightest spark in two galaxies, has got it wrong this time. It would seem that even the pack of a genius, full of all manner of wonderful, genius things cannot, in fact, stop a small piece of lead travelling at just over half the speed of sound. Luck has nothing to do with it.

John says, "Rodney... stay with me here, okay?" Yeah, like he's going anywhere anytime soon. Sudden nausea makes him groan, then he feels himself lowered backwards until his head reaches a soft spot. John's fingers are searching his neck; they are surprisingly gentle...

They put him on a stretcher. He tries to help, it's kind of embarrassing having your friends grab bits of you and lift you like an invalid. But he's able to do nothing but lie there, feeling cold blood on his chest beneath the hastily applied dressing. Rodney has never climbed Everest, but he thinks he could imagine how it would be; the air is becoming thin here... it's getting hard to suck in enough of the stuff.

The three faces around him break up and become confused patches of dark and light.

Someone mumbles, it sounds like they are playing the tuba - badly.

Then someone mumbles back.

Just his bad luck to be the one who passed that opening...

His bad luck to get shot.

Trust him to have his hands full...

Wrong place... wrong time... _blah, blah, blah..._

He really doesn't believe in luck, so it's strange that, as the darkness takes him, he finds himself trusting to it and hoping that it holds until they can get him back to those wonderful bedpans and IV's and ice chips and Carson patting him patiently on the head...

_Then_ he'll be alright.

(Touch wood...)

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

oOo

He's in the jumper now, a familiar vibration purrs beneath the decking he lies on and then there's the slight lurch as they take off.

His arm hurts; something heavy presses down on it. He opens his eyes and sees Ronon's big beefy hands moving around his bicep; looks like there's a roll of tape and tubing, too.

_Hey, Ronon_, but Ronon doesn't answer, instead, he rips off a piece of tape and sticks it to the little blue needle thing that's pushed into the crook of Rodney's elbow. His face is set in concentration... in shadow, eyes glittering and intense as he works.

Beyond Ronon, is Teyla, arm held high as she holds a bag of fluid aloft; her face is troubled.

"Sheppard?" shouts the Satedan, head up, "Tell Beckett, it's done. Now what?'

"Is he awake?" That's Sheppard..

"No."

_Yes_! corrects Rodney indignantly. But his vision is edged in shadow and he comes to realise that he's squinting at the world through half-closed lids, and although he tries, he cannot open his eyes fully.

"Beckett says to keep watching for signs of shock - we can't rule it out yet..."

Teyla's voice now, speaking to Ronon in hushed tones...

"We must keep him warm, also. Here, Ronon..." There's a scuffle of fabric, before a blanket, heavy and warm descends on him.

It's Teyla who runs cool fingers around the line of his jaw, and says,

"He seems warmer already..."

He imagines the Satedan nodding, "That's the liquid... I think."

"This injury... it is serious." That's Teyla again...

There's a worried sigh, then, "The heart is close. It's a dangerous position... but, he's been lucky-"

_Lucky_! The conversation drifts away as Rodney tries to see how any of this has been lucky for him. He remembers being unable to breathe... the air was not enough for him. Now, his face is hot, but there's the cool whisper of manufactured air upon his skin, so he thinks they've put an oxygen mask over his face. His chest is tight... still cold and uncomfortable, but he's in no pain.

People mumble again...

He gets his head back to the talking around him, and wonders how much he's missed, because Teyla is now saying, "No, I trust in the Ancestors and in Rodney's strength; we will not lose him."

_Aw... Teyla - gotta love that woman..._

Hmm, that's funny; seems as though he said at least some of that out loud.

"You are awake, Rodney." Teyla's voice just oozes warmth and concern; Rodney feels better at once. His eyelids have opened and his head is moving, so he guesses that, yes, he is awake.

"Wh..wh-?", he tries to ask, but Ronon, God bless him, needs to hear no more than this stammered fragment, and he replies,

"Bullet in your chest."

"Ronon!" Teyla admonishes. But McKay musters up a smile and finds himself appreciating the man's direct approach.

"Rodney we are taking you home. Just hold on, we will soon be there." says Teyla, laying a hand on his cheek. It feels cold... not the comfort he imagined it would be.

No, something has changed; it's hot, the oxygen no longer helps him and the mask stifles, making him gasp.

"Rodney what is it?", she asks urgently, her hand pulling his face around sharply, and none too gently; her eyes bore into his.

He's sweating and his heart labours, like he's been running up a hill. Aware of every halting and ill-timed beat, it's like he has a flapping bird in his chest that wants out...

_shit_!

A spasm of pain has him twisting beneath the blanket, and his knees come up; there's a clatter as something goes over. He sees a blur as Teyla jumps to her feet, but he has no time for it, because now.. it hurts... _Jesus_, it hurts, and the pain is like a steel band encircling his chest. His heart falters and leaps, and spots dance before his eyes. He fears that at any second his heart will stop. Hands are on him, but all he can do is try and breathe through his ever tightening chest.

Someone says, "We need to be ready - cut his shirt off!"

He coughs and, strangely, this seems to focus him for a second. His eyes open to a brief moment of clarity:

He sees Sheppard with his arms up dragging boxes from the rack, and just throwing them down. Scissors glint and flash in the light as Teyla slices off his dark blue shirt, revealing the blood-darkened edges of a field dressing in the centre of his chest. She's rough, uncaring of anything other than speed, and he can feel sharp metal scratch against his skin. In complete and stark contrast, Ronon is motionless; he stares straight ahead, the fingers of his right hand jammed into the side of Rodney's neck, and like Teyla, he's lost that gentle touch.

All seems peaceful down on the stretcher, and Rodney realises that in the last few seconds his heart has, in fact, stopped beating. He is no longer drawing breath, either - a fact which should have caused him great consternation.

Instead though, he watches, detached, through dimming eyes as his team try to bring him back.

They clamber over him, things seem to fly through the air all around, but he is only just aware of their frantic touch. It's as if he has receded... turned in on himself.

It's odd, but it's like the body on the stretcher is not him any more... not Rodney McKay...

He feels badly for whoever it is, though; it's obvious that they are dying.

So, it's someone else's body that jerks upward with every electric jolt that Ronon delivers.

Someone else's head is tipped back for air to be forced down their throat.

It's someone else's ribs that Sheppard pounds upon with a bloody fist.

It's not Rodney's ears that hear his friends' desperate pleas.

And now, at last, Rodney McKay does feel lucky: Because who would want to be a part of this? Who could bear to watch these valiant souls try, only for their efforts to be in vain? Who wouldn't feel _wretched_ to bring that sort of suffering to people they cared about?

He's well out of it.

Sirens whine and voices are raised, but they're unimportant; he simply lets his mind drift, holding onto the threads of reality with tired fingers.

He feels them slipping away, so he reaches for them... then, exhausted, he lets go.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your comments!

(Important Note : Dr. Ammanalien is _completely_ untrained.)


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for being so late with this... real life, I'm afraid.

oOo

"I've seen people die from something like this."

It was said quietly, but there was no mistaking Ronon's sincerity or the worry that was plainly written on his sober face. Teyla looked once more at the body of her friend and teammate, laid out as he was, on a litter on the floor of the ship. They had attached the IV to Rodney's arm as Carson had instructed and she had found the oxygen herself and placed the mask over his mouth and nose. The earth people could perform, what to her, were miracles, with their medicines and machines. All Rodney had to do was hold on to life as long as possible, and, knowing the man as she did, she knew it was highly likely that he would.

"No, I trust in the Ancestors and in Rodney's strength; we will not lose him." she finally said.

Her knees were crampng under her; the space in which she knelt was small and the floor of the jumper hard and cold. Across from her, Ronon was turned away, rooting around in a small hold-all.

She had stowed the bag of liquid on the seat beside her, so at least she no longer had to hold it up. Leaning over the unconscious man, she carefully lifted the tattered edges of the blue shirt. She had roughly torn them back earlier as they had struggled to get a proper look at the wound. She used the damp piece of cloth in her hand to wipe away the blood that had seeped from the dressing. There was no real reason to do so; she simply felt the need to do something.

Then a muttering was heard from the man on the stretcher, and both she and Ronon found their eyes on the doctor. She was startled to see that he had awoken and was looking directly at her through long lashes.

"You are awake, Rodney..." she said, feeling a gladness that was unexpected in its intensity.

It was shocking to see him like this; so pale and weak, his face mostly covered by the transparent mask. It fogged with moisture as he exhaled, and at the same time it seemed to Teyla that the man winced, as his injury pained him.

"Wh..wh-?" he asked, the words muffled by the snug mask.

"Bullet in your chest.", came the blunt reply from the Satedan.

"Ronon!" Teyla snapped, but she wasn't really angry; Rodney was not stupid, and would remember what had happened to him sooner or later.

A voice from the front drew their attention for a moment, "Coming up on the spacegate. We're almost home." called John.

"Rodney we are taking you home. Just hold on, we will soon be there," she soothed. She felt the cold of the wormhole swallow them and then they were through and she imagined them hovering, back in the gate room. She laid a hand on Rodney's cheek but as she did so, he flinched, and a visible shiver ran through him.

He sucked in a breath.

"Rodney what is it?", she demanded, trying to get a better look at him by angling his face towards her.

There was no answer, but it was clear that he was struggling for breath, his body almost convulsing. There was a sudden loud noise as the man's flailing foot impacted an open med kit. Ronon's face was opposite her and they exchanged anxious glances.

"What is it? What do we do?", she asked him, her own heart racing.

Quick fingers searched the doctor's neck, and at first all Ronon did was shake his head, but then her team mate said, "It's his heart... it's giving out."

"No!', she cried, both scared and angry at his words. She twisted and squirmed her backside off the floor, and got unsteadily to her feet.

"John! You must hurry - Rodney's heart... it is weakening...", she shouted.

After a brief pause, there was an unfamiliar sound from the front, and then the jumper seemed to shudder a little. Suddenly, the colonel was at her side, pulling her down to a crouch with him.

At her puzzled expression he hastily explained:

"Auto-pilot."

She glanced towards the front of the jumper, beyond the empty seats. They were rising into the jumper bay now and she could see bulkheads slowly pass them.

"We need to be ready - cut his shirt off!", snapped John as he turned in the narrow space, and started searching boxes. First, underneath the bench seats and then above them, on the racks.

Teyla took up the scissors and with hands that shook shamefully, she pushed them, _snip_ _snip_, across Rodney's chest, feeling sure that in her haste she was slicing his skin too. She grabbed the edges of the ruined blue shirt and ripped them apart. Looking up she saw that John was now opposite her next to Ronon, and within only a few seconds he had assembled a small machine.

"Beckett'll be here soon, but Rodney can't wait...", he said thickly, as he attached wires, turned up dials and fit two round paddles into his hands.

Teyla now recognised this machine as like one that had saved the colonel, way back when the team first came together. She remembered then, Dr McKay's shocked and pale face, when Carson had used the machine on John, effectively bringing him back from the dead.

Ronon's sharp tone cut into her reverie, ending her thoughts with the words she had been dreading.

"That's it... heart's stopped."

How he could say it so calmly, was beyond her; inside she was screaming, feeling like a terrified child.

In a blur, Sheppard tossed something over to Ronon. Immediately he caught it and without being told, ripped off the oxygen mask and replaced it with this. Teyla had seen these being used before, too; it pushed air into the nose and mouth. As he began rythmically squeezing the bag, the Satedan glanced quickly up from his task, and Teyla saw him frown.

Following the gaze of the Satedan, she was startled to see Sheppard poised with the paddles in his hands, but with such a look of despair on his face, it was difficult to witness. It was obvious the condition of his friend was affecting him badly, and he was hesitating.

"I'll do it. It's alright, John...", Ronon assured him, as he met Sheppard's eyes, "I can do it"

Immediately Teyla shuffled around, and without waiting, she took the air bag from Ronon, and began working it as he had; this, she could do, and then he could help the colonel.

The next thing she heard was from Ronon,

"Clear!", he yelled, and, with the paddles in his hands, he leaned on the unconscious man's chest so hard, she thought she heard the doctor's ribs creak.

A jolt of electricity ran through the body on the floor; it made Teyla shudder. It was John, now, whose fingers dug around under Rodney's jaw. She watched him shake his head, his eyes dark and troubled.

Several times they tried and Teyla found herself hunched over the breathing bag, her whole world reduced to the frantic ins and outs she made with every squeeze of her hands. Tears fell, and all the while she tried not to see... tried not to hear, what was happening around her. Where was the medical team? Why was time moving so slowly in this tiny space where they desperately fought to bring back their friend?

The colonel was shouting... Ronon was shouting... and she had never felt so powerless to help.

oOo

_"I'll beat the crap outta you, man, so help me I will..."_

_"You're dead, four-eyes."_

That's what they used to say to him. He would cringe, turn and walk his bike the other way and pray they wouldn't follow him. Being the smartest kid in the class and wearing wire-rimmed specs wasn't an easy ride.

He was lucky, they never did beat him up, never did catch him, and he was thankful for that. He heard about kids who 'got beat up'... pulverised by bullies. He _so_ didn't want to be one of those kids.

No, he never got roughed up... or worked over... or pushed around...

He was never pounded on... until now.

How did they find him? Were they stealing his bike? He'd be in trouble for that... for not sticking up for himself... letting them steal his fifty dollar bike.

He tried to kick, to throw his arms... to fight back. One of them was pounding viciously on his chest, and _shit_... maybe he had a knife in his hand, because the pain of every blow was excruciating.

He could hear it, too... each blow rang through his chest, like a blacksmith working on a shoe.

Pounding, pounding, pounding...

"You _lazy_... _assed_... _son_ of a... _bitch_!", someone shouted, and then, "_Come_ on..._come_ on!"

And suddenly, as lightning strikes, he was back, only just then realising that he'd been away. His eyes flew open, he was gulping air like a newly-surfaced drowning man. Turned out there _was_ someone pounding on his chest, but it wasn't some kid from high school, it was Sheppard.

Something fell away from his face, and he sucked in cold air, in small shivery breaths. As the image of Sheppard properly registered, a bright light flooded the jumper, making the colonel seem to glow; Rodney screwed up his eyes. The light was cast from the back hatch, as it opened noisily directly behind his head.

Sheppard was staring at his hands; they were bright red... he even had spots of crimson on his face.

Rodney heard Carson's voice shout, "Outta ma way!" He always sounded like that when he was worried.

But all Rodney could think about was the blood; the blood on Sheppard's hands. It was _his_ blood... had come from _his_ chest. The dark odour of it filled the air, and he could taste it on his lips.

People shifted, moved away and came near, and he was prodded and assessed by competent hands.

As he drifted, though, cushioned by Carson's blessed drugs, all he could see were the colonel's blood-stained hands; hands that wouldn't let him slip away, wouldn't allow him to let go...

He'd been as good as dead, and those hands had dragged him back.

oOo

TBC and profuse medical apologies - especially to Janib, who is a nurse!!!(Hides head in shame) I hope I got it kinda right - let me know if it's not.


	4. Chapter 4

oOo

He was _so_ _cold._

No.. really... so cold that he was _beyond_ cold.

You know, in the way that a three day-old corpse is _beyond_ dead. His skin didn't fit him; it was like he didn't belong in this limp, broken shell, that was once his body.

Every sawing breath he took whistled through frosted airways, and his chest... well, his chest felt like it had been ripped open and fixed back up with a nail gun.

His whole body pained him; it had been borrowed and then returned damaged.

He felt damp... clammy. He could tell that blankets or some such heavy things covered him, but they were no comfort.

Light-headed and muddled, he was unable to fully account for his present state, even though he knew he should. With closed eyes, he listened to the sounds around him. There were hushed voices, electronic and mechanical noises that bipped and whooshed.

He decided to be asleep; asleep was good... that way he wouldn't have to deal with being awake.

Some hours ago he'd awoken; to nausea on his tongue and a thumping behind his forehead. He gagged as something hard was yanked from his airway. Carson had fussed over him, shushing and tutting. He then pronounced him lucid enough to recieve an up-date on his condition.

While the medic and a hefty male nurse hauled him more upright against pillows, he was told how the bleeding from his bullet wound had caused pressure on the heart muscle, which resulted in cardiac arrest. Once he'd been given a 'jump', as it were, he had been rushed to the infirmary and the damage repaired in the operating room.

All this had happened yesterday, which was odd because Rodney felt sure he'd been lying there much longer.

'Lucky', Carson called him... Rodney had to admit, he probably was.

But the change in position, from prone to sitting up, plus the violent removal of his breathing tube, had exhausted him for the day. So for the remaining hours he slept and dozed and slept again. He found that if he pretended to be asleep, the fewer tests and other indignities were inflicted upon him, hence his present state.

From where he lay he could squint surreptitiously beneath his eyelids into Carson's office. It was early evening; time for the change over of the day to the night staff.

Funny, though how Carson always seemed to be around, whether it was day or night.

As personnel filed out of the office, he quickly shut his eyes. There was the odd footstep close to him, but it looked like no one was going to be bothering him yet.

"Alright, Sonny Jim, it's time ye stopped this foolishness, and opened yer eyes!"

Carson's sharp tone caught him totally by surprise, somewhere close to his right ear. He couldn't prevent the little yelp of shock that escaped him.

The doctor's voice softened, and he asked quietly, "Any pain?", and Rodney nodded, thinking that it was a silly question seeing as how they dug a bullet out of his chest yesterday.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, as the doctor injected something good into his IV line.

Carson gave him a mock severe look, and said, quite testily,

"No one has been in yet... and that's just as I ordered it, Rodney. You've been in no fit state to recieve guests. But there's no reason to keep them away now. I'll put it in the bulletin."

"The bulletin?" he asked, confused.

"It may come as a surprise, my friend, but a few people around here were anxious about you." replied Carson, this time with a knowing smile.

oOo

It was so great... going to the bathroom. It was pure heaven shuffling across the floor in paper slippers, chest tightening with every step and feeling a little pinch of pain with each breath.

They had relieved him of his little friend the catheter just that morning, and even though it was making him sweat, this gruelling trip was far better than putting up with that evil contraption.

Almost there, he pushed his IV stand ahead of him and paused by a wall, leaning on it for support.

Then, from the direction of the infirmary main doors he heard a familiar rumble; curious, he tilted his head to listen:

"Sheppard... McKay wants you... "

(A pause)

"No, he's doin' fine, I guess..."

(Long pause, and then a sigh)

"Look, John, can you just come and see him - no one's been by - you can play your _guff_ anytime... "

(Annoyed growl)

"Well, _whatever_ it's called... !"

Rodney heard no more as he hastily entered the bathroom.

What was going on? Just that morning, his third in the infirmary, he'd had visitors: Elizabeth and Teyla dropped in, followed later by both Zelenka and Ronon. He had assumed the colonel to be simply busy and anticipated a visit in the near future from his over-worked team mate.

But it seemed there was maybe more to it than that, and Ronon, and possibly the others, knew something he didn't.

Now, that was something Rodney McKay could not stand; he wanted to know, and he wanted to know now... why was Sheppard staying away?

By the time he had made his tortuous way back, Ronon was waiting for him, by his bed.

"Hey...", he said, looking up.

Rodney thought he looked uncomfortable... and not because of the plastic chair he was sitting in.

In silence, the scientist hobbled over and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

He asked his question, because, surely, the big man wouldn't lie:

"Where's Sheppard?", he said, his eyes sliding furtively towards his guest.

Rodney could detect only a flicker of emotion on the Satedan's face, before he said, brightly, "Training the new intake; he couldn't get away, you know how it is..."

"Yeah, I know how it is" answered Rodney, this time looking directly at Ronon, who now could not bring himself to hold the scientist's gaze.

oOo

"Don't think much of the new recruits, Sheppard... this how you whack 'em into shape?"

Caught in the middle of his back-swing, John whirled around to face the man who had just spoken.

His jaw dropped; it was Rodney McKay looking as much like a corpse as a living person could possibly look. Dropping his nine iron, he ran towards the scientist who, dressed in white scrubs and a robe, was seriously listing to one side.

"What the hell are you doing here? Are you insane?" he snapped, incredulous at the man's stupidity.

"No... just... impulsive", said the breathless scientist, pivoting spectacularly on one leg and barely managing to avoid hitting the deck. John moved him slowly backwards where his rear end could rest on a low bulkhead.

He looked down and winced:

"You're not supposed to pull the tubing...you're dripping all over the floor, McKay," complained Sheppard, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Rodney was leaving a little trail of blood droplets, from the IV port still in his arm.

"Guess I wasn't thinking straight... shot in the heart, you know." McKay was trying gamefully to snark, but couldn't quite pull it off.

Making a swift decision, John withdrew the needle, and, taking a small dressing from his vest pocket, he jammed it against the puncture and folded Rodney's arm at the elbow, holding it in place.

The woozy scientist blinked heavy eye lids at him, and gave John a questioning look.

By way of explanation, he said, "Pressure... it'll stop the leak."

John continued to hold the trembling arm, both to staunch the blood flow and to prevent the injured man from sliding from his perch.

A nod indicated he had been understood. Rodney's head bowed and his chin rested on his chest.

"Alright. Let's get you back where you belong..." John said quietly, and he raised a hand to his ear...

"No!" came the unexpected reply from McKay, "Taken me an age to w-walk here... not goin' back yet."

John's hand lowered and he waited.

Again the scientist spoke, and as he mumbled, his head bobbed weakly.

"Why haven't you come to see me?" he murmured.

Okay; straight to the point.

Sheppard parked his behind on the same ledge as the scientist, still half-supporting him. They sat there side by side.

"I did come, you just weren't awake is all..." He tried to get away with this half-truth; he had counted on the scientist being asleep every time.

"You can do better than that," answered McKay, obviously trying to sound feisty, and failing.

John took a breath, held it a second, then closed his eyes briefly as he let it out.

"You needed my help and I... choked. I couldn't do it. Couldn't... shock you."

There; he'd said it. Rodney blinked. After a couple of seconds, the scientist's jaw dropped open.

"So what? _I _didn't shock _you_, that day in the jumper, with the-the bug thing. I'm glad someone else got that particular pleasure."

"I lead the team, Rodney, you're my responsibility." Sheppard said, his eyes now downcast. He could feel the tremors in Rodney increasing under the hand that still held the scientist's arm.

After a few moments of awkward silence he looked up.

He watched as McKay, looking more and more confused, raised his free hand to his eyes and rubbed, as if trying to sort out his thoughts by friction alone.

"Wait a minute, though, I remember; you had blood on your hands, you _did_ shock me and you brought me back."

John's eyes slid away from Rodney's again...

"No, it was Ronon." he said, carefully.

"But the blood... the blood, John..."

Rodney's pale face was turned imploringly towards him and Sheppard sighed, before finally saying,

"Look. Ronon shocked you, but it didn't work... and I-I... just couldn't leave it. I couldn't help myself. I guess I worked out my frustrations on your rib cage. Sorry..."

"_Sorry_?" and really, this was nothing more than a squeak from the sickly doctor.

He went on, spluttering, "Are you deranged? You saved me. I think I can forgive you the odd bruise."

"It was a bit more than a bruise, Rodney..." and John's mind returned to the terrible minutes on the jumper floor, beating the living daylights out of McKay, watching blood spray, through eyes that were blurry with desperation.

"Yeah, yeah... well, let's just forget it, okay?" interjected Rodney, and John felt glad for the interruption. The man sounded weary... weary and sick. John noticed how, when he blinked, his eyes lost their focus for a second, and seemed to roll lazily. He looked to be on the point of collapse and should be bundled off back to the infirmary as quickly as possible. Rising quickly, he used both arms to brace Rodney, and pushed him gently further back against the bulk head. Gingerly, he let go and was glad to see the man able to at least stay upright unaided.

But then he watched as Rodney raised his head, screwed up his face and asked, slowly,

"Is this... boat r-rocking? Cos it looks-looks... like 'srocking..." and he began to sway slightly, all the while his eyes alternately bulging and squeezing shut.

_Oh, my, that man needs to be in bed_, thought John, beginning to feel queasy himself.

After a moment's deliberation, he tapped his ear, "Ronon? You busy?"

oOo

"I thought you were bringing a chair?" he said, as Ronon strode out onto the small area of deck they had designated as their driving range.

"Don't need one. Besides... this way is quicker" the big man answered, and with that, he scooped up the drooping scientist as if he was a small child, and then held him in his capable arms.

McKay was barely awake now, his face gray and sweaty.

"Don't feel t-t-too good.." he slurred, his nose pressed to Ronon's shoulder.

"Don't you throw up on me, McKay... or I'll drop you." warned the Satedan, already on his way out.

John couldn't help his smile as he tailed the Satedan out into the hallways of Atlantis, towards the infirmary. There was no way on Earth or elsewhere that Ronon would drop McKay... and John half wished that Rodney _would_ throw up, just to prove him right.

When they reached their destination, the inevitable tirade of indignation greeted them:

"Where the _hell_ has he been?! A've turned the whole bloody place upside down lookin' for 'im... and you lads... don' you come and look s' innocent, ye buggers!" Carson truly was in fine form, bundling the sick man away with many a tut and damnation as he did so.

John and Ronon were left standing in the hallway, having been herded out by Carson's loyal staff.

John was surprised to find Ronon regarding him...

"What?" he asked, with a shrug.

Ronon considered for a second or two, then answered with a snort,

"Would've been simpler just to visit..." and with that he left, dabbing absently at the large stain on his shoulder with a piece of ragged towel.

oOo

TBC with just one more little epilogue.

Sorry to be so long in posting... I hate it when writers do that! My excuse is I got a job!!!! Just a short contract, but it takes me away from the pc for days at a time. I hope to be quicker with the epilogue... Thankyou for all the reviews, I appreciate each and every one.xxxx


	5. Chapter 5

oOo

Alright, he conceded... maybe it had been ill-advised. Unwise, perhaps.

But _foolhardy_?

That was going too far. Carson had called him that while he'd been throwing up. It had been grossly unfair as he couldn't at that point defend himself - not while clutching at the rim of a basin and trying to catch his breath between heaves.

Okay, so his temperature was up... his white count, too. It might have happened anyway, regardless of whether he'd decided to go walkabout.

He picked at the layers of hardened tape on his arm; it could take days to get all that off, and of course that was the point, wasn't it? So the _foolhardy_ patient couldn't escape again.

He didn't want to escape, he wasn't stupid; but still he picked. The unsmiling nurse who had reattached his line, glared at him the whole time she bound round and round his arm. She knew exactly what she was doing; Rodney had absconded once on her watch and he wouldn't do it again - not easily, anyway.

He swept the back of an unsteady hand across his sweaty brow. The infirmary bed where he lay propped on pillows, was lumpy. The covers clung and tangled themselves around his legs. The heat within him made him want to crawl out of his skin; it itched... felt too tight on his bones. His eyes were gritty and sore, and he grimaced at the unpleasant feeling of his limbs being slippery with sweat.

Shifting uneasily, his eyes strayed again to the bathroom door, diagonally across from him. Another twinge deep in his belly had him frowning and wriggling. He looked yearningly at the door; could he make it? Well, he could definitely crawl there, but that was not such a good plan. If he showed them any weakness, he'd be catheterised again quicker than you could zip your fly...

They'd given him something... for the fever, but it had yet to work. He was dog-tired, feverish and now he needed the bathroom. He should call for a nurse; the button was right there. He sighed, it was just too undignified..._ hell,_ it was _unnecessary_.

Calling for assistance was what they expected; how amazed and impressed they would be, though, if he made his own... arrangements.

The infirmary was empty; he could go from bed to bed, clinging on and resting if he needed to. If anyone came in he could bluff his way, stand tall, smile, laugh, make a joke even.

As he drew back the bed linen, cool air prickled across his damp skin making him shiver.

He was sick; yes... he really was... no arguments there. Leaving the infirmary as he'd done earlier that day, had set him back a good deal. But he only had make it to the bathroom and that was a paltry little thing, easily achieved.

_Just get to the bathroom, McKay_... get in and get out, no biggie. Then sleep in a soggy, sweaty heap for the rest of the day, if that was what it took.

He'd done far more difficult things, after all.

Pivoting on his rear, he swung his legs around and lowered trembling feet to the cold floor. A queasy moment or two later, he pushed up and away from his damp bed, until he stood swaying by its side.

His legs felt like pins, thin and unsteady. His knees knocked and there was little he could do to stop them. A pinching sensation in his chest brought an unwelcome reminder of his recent injury. He could only imagine what kind of a mess he looked; the white faced scientist, half-naked and shivering. _Way to impress the nurses, McKay._

He clung to the IV stand as if it was a lifeline.

Seconds passed. How many he didn't know. His heart was bumping against bruised ribs. He was sweating even more now, something he had thought was impossible.

_Shit, shit, shit...!_

All optimism had left him and he realised with a sinking heart that to venture off now would indeed be... _foolhardy_. The words of his Scottish doctor prickled him, but he knew for certain the truth and wisdom behind them.

As these unwelcome thoughts ran through his mind, he was startled into further unsteadiness by a familiar voice.

"Going somewhere, McKay?"

With a gasp he turned his head and saw Sheppard leaning easily against an adjacent gurney, his arms folded in front of him. He wasn't smiling.

_Huh.._ wasn't that just typical? Here he was, ready to go, almost naked, ghostly-white and looking like a breath of wind would knock him over, and in comes an audience to watch it all unfold. Well, an audience of one.

"It's alright, Sheppard, I'm not absconding this time, just... taking a walk," was his irritated reply.

"Where to? You don't look so good." Sheppard was probably eyeing the sweaty sheen on McKay's forehead - the way he stood bent over like an old guy.

"Bathroom, if you must know... " he answered testily, "... and I'd kill for a vanilla ice cream."

Unbelievably, he laughed... Sheppard laughed; the_ bastard_ actually laughed.

But he must have seen Rodney's wounded and horrified expression because instantly, his face fell, replacing the grin with a sheepish half-smile.

"Sorry, buddy... not funny, huh?" He had stood away from the gurney and now his hands were loosely in his pockets. He looked contrite.

"Come on... " said Sheppard, and he held out his arm.

McKay blinked.

"I can't promise you ice-cream," went on the pilot, "but I can get you where you wanna go."

Rodney hesitated. Sheppard was his friend, they'd been through a lot together, and he should accept this offer of help. It wasn't easy though. He was embarrassed, both by his weakened condition and the frankly disgusting mess he was in; sweating profusely, unshaved, unkempt and decidedly unwashed.

He just wasn't sure he could do it. Maybe he'd wait for Carson. With Carson it was different; he was a doctor, and used to such things... but no, his body was telling him that waiting for Carson could be a very bad idea.

The decision was taken away from him at that point as, seemingly unphased by his friend's scruffy state, Sheppard slid his shoulder under Rodney's, grabbed his wrist, and effectively hauled the surprised man upright.

There was a brief loss of equilibrium but then they settled into a kind of solid framework, capable perhaps of making the trip across the room and back. Their faces were inches apart and Rodney hoped his wasn't showing his unease.

Sheppard's face, though, was a blank; it showed nothing, no embarrassment, no disgust and for that Rodney felt a deep and genuine gratitude.

Slowly and carefully they made their way across the shiny floor, Rodney's knees still knocking. His clammy right hand ensured the IV followed them on its squeaky little wheels.

In no time at all they were at the washroom door.

"I think I can manage from here..." he mumbled, breathlessly, and he unhooked himself from the other man's shoulder. Sheppard looked relieved and simply said, "Good.."

After taking care of what needed to be done, the scientist deposited his used hand towel in the trash, and as he did so caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked old, old and sick... no real surprises there then.

Taking hold of his ever present IV buddy he pushed open the door to find Sheppard patiently waiting, hands in pockets again. Without any hesitation this time, Rodney took the hand that was offered and allowed himself to be draped more or less across the pilot's broad shoulders.

"Your bones stick out..." he grizzled, but found he was unable to say anything more.

"Shut up, McKay," Sheppard said amicably, as they shuffled off.

Rodney was breathing heavily now. Over the last few minutes he had begun to feel worse and worse. His chest was tight and sore. There was a humming in his head like a badly-tuned radio. He found his right hand was no longer wrapped around metal. Instead, it was fisted onto the front of Sheppard's dark shirt. The colonel didn't seem to mind it being there.

Rodney screwed up his eyes; the infirmary didn't look right, it was all brightly lit and mushy, and he could swear the floor was tilting.

He clung even harder to his friend, and John, as if he guessed what was going on, lengthened his stride and tightened his grip on the scientist. There were quiet words spoken, but all Rodney heard was a comforting mumbling, against a background of ever increasing radio static.

He was just wondering why they hadn't reached his bed yet, when the static became unbearably loud, and his head was filled with deafening sound and electric white light.

Faintness came washing over him like a chilling wave, and he was only just aware of an abrupt but gentle fall.

When his eyes opened everything looked almost normal... _a good sign,_ he thought.

Blinking at the ceiling, he heard soft voices speaking.

"Will he be alright?"

A sigh, "He's much better now. His fever's down, he's resting easy. Being up and around just about exhausted him, add to that a depressed system, no wonder he fainted."

Rodney felt an indignation that was almost physical. _Why did they have to call it that?_

Carson was talking again.

"Lucky for him you came along when you did, Colonel."

Rodney took a second or two to ponder on that one.

Lucky?_ Hell, yes_.

Lucky to be alive... to be considered _important_, and not just for his brains... Lucky to be _cared for_, because, let's face it... when does that happen to a socially challenged astro physicist? Lucky to have good friends... a crazy Scotsman, two dangerous aliens, and a stubborn pilot for whom giving up was just never an option.

The pillow felt soft beneath his head. His bedding had been changed... it smelled of clean air and detergent.

What was that song...? _Dreadful song_, something about being lucky; McKay ferretted around in his brain to remember it.

_Oh yeah... Hot Australian girl... that's the one,_ and he was still humming it to himself when the others arrived with the ice-cream.

oOo

The End

Thanks for your patience... I'm so embarrassed that this story has been going on for so long.

Never again... (She says, hopefully!) and, as always, THANKYOU for reading this stuff I write, I hope you enjoy it.xxx


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